Fragile messages

A desolate window ablaze with 
twenty red lights is all this home has.

Still path slips away; body gives away; 
you return to a forlorn Christmas.

Beeps wait at the answering machine 
programmed to accept; not to respond.

Twenty red lights is all you have from 
the last year’s bash. Numb hands pour a drink.

An eddy of warmth as false as cards, 
as false as words you have sent, received. 

Greetings; old chairs, sofas, utensils!
Greetings; a pitiful large bed, unmade!

by Kushal Poddar

Email: poddarku@hotmail.com